


Taken Care Of

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reader request, TAZ-Amnesty, indruck, local bear loves diaster moth, set post finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Indrid Cold is ill. Duck Newton ends up with a new roommate. Neither of them sees what is coming, but both of them enjoy getting there.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 170





	Taken Care Of

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested: For the writing prompt: if you’re so inclined, could you write some Indruck, where Indrid is sick and Duck finds him passed out in the shower?? Thank you so much for providing that sweet, sweet Indruck content!!!!

Nobody has come to check on him. 

This is not unusual, Indrid reminds himself. It’s rare that he has visitors. 

He’d just thought that after the cottonwood, after the almost end of the worlds, he’d be considered a true part of the group. Worthy of a visit, of concern.

Then again, he hadn’t done much beyond make a few dramatic entrances and get kidnapped. 

Then again, he hadn’t told any of them about the injury.

It wasn’t caused by a Quell creature, thank goodness. But when you’re hurtled full force through the side of a building, an unfortunately placed chunk of jagged metal can tear through feathers and skin easily. 

He’s had far worse injuries, has gotten adept over the last hundred years at caring for his wounds. Caring for others wounds as well, the few times he tried saving someone when his warnings were not enough. 

There is a scar under his ribcage from the last time he tried that. 

He sets the sketchpad down, gets to ride a wave of nausea all the way to the cramped bathroom. His reflection, sallow and tired, regards him with worry. He can’t even tell if this is his normal amount of odd looking or if he’s genuinely looking worse. 

Chills ripple through his body, followed unfairly quickly by a burst of fever. Or what he thinks is fever. He hasn’t owned a thermometer since 1981. 

Maybe he should shower; he’s feeling a bit sweaty and sore, and the warm water will, if nothing else, make him feel better. 

After all, it’s not like he has someone to be, or has to be ready by a certain time. The futures make it plain: nobody is coming to see him any time soon.

\----------------------------------------------

Duck hesitates before knocking on the door of the ‘Bago, anticipating Indrid swinging the door open a moment before his hand moves. 

When that doesn’t happen, he sends a metallic rap echoing through the campground. 

Nothing. 

He knocks again, listens; he can hear the space heaters thrumming, but nothing else. Maybe Indrid is out somewhere. He didn’t see him when he passed the payphone, so he knows he’s not there. And he’s not at the lodge, since Duck just came from there. 

Well, this casserole isn’t going to deliver itself. Barclay asked him to run it by, since he worries about Indrid eating mainly sugary drinks and poptarts. 

“I know he can’t technically get scurvy or shit like that, but a balanced diet is still important.” He’d explained, setting the dish in Duck’s hand. 

Duck tries the door, pushes it open with ease. The trailer is hot, like always, and as he sets the casserole down on the counter, he picks up the trickle of running water. The shower. Well, that explains not answering the door. 

“Hey, Indrid, it’s Duck. But, uh, you probably already knew that, uh, left some food Barclay made you.”

No one finishes his sentences. No one answers at all. 

“Indrid? You okay bud?”

The running water is making him anxious.

“Indrid, uh, if you’re okay, can you say somethin? If you don’t, I’m gonna have to come in and check on you and that could get real awkward real quick.”

The water continues. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, cautiously opening the unlocked door. 

The arm limply sprawled on the floor does not fill him with confidence. 

Indrid is crumpled on the ground, half out of the still running shower. His glasses are tilted up his forehead, his eyes are shut, when Duck touches his skin he’s burning up, in spite of the shower running cold. 

Shit, there’s no way Indrid takes cold showers. Which means he’s been in here awhile. 

There’s a pulse, thank fuck, but Indrid doesn’t respond when Duck touches him or speaks his name. 

He shuts off the water, drapes a towel across Indrid to protect his modesty (Duck has no idea if that’s even something Indrid has, but better safe than sorry), and carries him to the small bed. He’s dead weight in Duck’s arms, though he stirs with a pained, chirring sound when Duck sets him down. 

“Indrid?” Duck kneels down, absentmindedly brushes damp hair from that angular face as he talks, “I’m gonna get you decent and then take you to the doctor, okay? Be just as fast as callin an ambulance down.”

He sifts through the two bins of clothes, finds some boxers and a bathrobe. He gets the boxers on, keeping the towel in place until they are, ignoring how nice it feels to hook his arm under Indrid’s lower back and lift him easily. Once he’s coaxed limp limbs into the bathrobe and tipped his glasses down, he scoops Indrid up and carries him to the car, clicking off space heaters as he goes (some of them are older than he is, and the fact they haven’t short-circuited or overheated and caused a blaze is either magic or a miracle).

They’re halfway to the hospital when Indrid groans, rolling over in the passenger seat to face Duck.

“Where are you taking me?” His voice is weak. 

“Hospital.”

“Duck?” Indrid slowly raises his glasses, blinks his eyes, “why...how…”

“I came by your place to drop off some food, found you passed out in the shower. Did you faint or somethin?” Duck keeps his tone gentle when he notices Indrid looking unusually afraid. 

“No. I, I recall feeling weak, deciding I would sit down in the shower just for a moment to rest, because I was worried I would faint and hit my head. Apparently I fainted anyway and remained that way for six hours. 

“Wha- you’ve been layin there like that since _this mornin_?”

“Yes.” Indrid says flatly, then adds, “please do not take me to the hospital. There are no futures where that does not end with my glasses being removed and revealing my Sylph form. I do not possess the energy to transfer the charm right now. And I assume you would prefer to not be stuck attempting to lie about me.”

“Yep. Uh, hm, guess we’ll….” He flips his blinker, turns right at the next block. 

“You can just take me back to the Winnebago, I have what I need there.”

“No can do.” Duck pulls into the apartment complex, “not after you just said you were fuckin passed out on the floor most of the day.”

“Duck, I am grateful for your help, but I will be fine. I do not wish to be a bother to you or your housemat, and the futures show in most cases no passing out leads to death.”

“Nope.” Duck puts the car in park, turns to look at Indrid, “ First off, Minerva is living with Leo for a bit. I uh, needed some space to think about some stuff. And Indrid, you’re clearly real fuckin sick. What if this gets worse and no one comes to help you?” He rests a hand on Indrid’s shoulder, “You’re my friend. I ain’t gonna let you suffer all on your lonesome. I got a spare bed and NyQuil, let me at least give you that.”

Indrid’s face does something odd at the word “friend” but he nods, let’s Duck help him out of the car and up the stairs. 

“Here” Duck guides him to the spare room, and the sylph sits heavily down on the bed, flopping back almost instantly. 

“I’m gonna go get you some clothes. You want me to get some things to keep the room warm too? Ain’t sure I’m ready to kick the heat up for the whole place in the summer, but I got a heated blanket and a little space heater you could plug in. Could cover the vents too, to make sure the AC don’t bug you.”

“That would all be helpful, thank you. After all, we wouldn’t want to melt your small protector here.” He gives a weak smile as Taco the cat sneaks into the room, regarding him with suspicion before dashing into the closet. 

“Taco, what is with you and that damn closet?” He grumbles, standing and retrieving his indignant pet. Indrid snickers weakly, and relief hits Duck like a wind gust. 

He brings Indrid his fluffy, pine-tree patterned pajama pants and his trusty Monongahela National Forest sweatshirt. Indrid changes as Duck pulls spare blankets down from the closet shelf. 

“Since you are about to ask, no, I do not believe whatever’s causing this is contagious.” 

“That’s good, at least for me I guess. Any idea what is causin-” He turns to put the blankets down and sees his answer. There’s a gash on Indrid’s back, above his right shoulder blade.

“Oh shit, that’s gnarly lookin, and I’ll bet my entire pension it’s infected and makin you sick. Here, sit down on the bed and I’ll see what I can do. How’d it happen?”

“The fight.”

Duck freezes in the doorway, turns his head to look back, “The Quell fight? You been dealin with that for two weeks?”

A nod, “it only became this bad over the last few.”

“Oh, ‘Drid.” He says softly, not finding any other words of use. When he returns with the first aid kit, Taco has made himself comfortable in Indrid’s lap. Indrid squooshes his golden fluff, lilting nonsense as he does. 

“Who is such a lovely feline? Who is so charming they could be on TV? It is you. Indeed. It is you.”

“Heh, he don’t always take to people that quick. When Aubrey and Minerva moved in here he spent three days hiding.”

“In his defense” Indrid says as Duck crawls onto the bed behind him, “I am a tad quieter than either of them.”

Duck takes in the wound; it’s clear Indrid tried to patch it up at some point, even though it’s in the hardest place to reach on ones own, as he spies a faded mark from adhesive. 

“Do I need to be doin this when you’re-”

“-mothman? No. It will work just as well on this form.”

“Gotcha. This is gonna sting.” He opens a sterile cleaning wipe and presses it to the skin. Indrid chirrs, pained, but keeps still. He pats the pad down, trying to see if Indrid tried stitch it shut, and spies part of the problem. 

“Indrid, uh, it looks like there’s, uh, a bit of somethin stuck in this. It looks like that fuckin mist, only congealed.”

“Hmm. I suppose some could have gotten into the wound during the fight. It may explain why I’ve felt so ill. Sylphs are lucky in that our immune systems don’t react too strongly to germs or other microbes on Earth. Except for something in blueberries. I haven’t the faintest idea what.”

“What happens if you eat blueberries?” Duck wipes down the tweezers to sterilize them.

“It’s a bit like being human with allergies to pollen during a spring windstorm; we sneeze like mad for a few hours and our eyes get itchy.”

“Anythin on Sylvain that humans are allergic too? I kinda wondered that after Vincent asked if I wanted to get lunch sometime.”

“Nothing deadly, but there’s a kind of vine, you would think it similar to Kudzu, that AH-” Indrid slaps his hands over his mouth when Duck pulls on the shard with the tweezers, angry, hurt chitters and chirrs spilling around his fingers as Duck manages to get it out. The sudden motion aggravates the wound, sending a trickle of blood down his back. 

“S’okay, that was the worst of it, see?” Duck holds the shard where he can see it.

“T-thank you.” Indrid lets out another, smaller chirp of pain as Duck cleans the aggravated area. He seems almost embarrassed by the completely understandable outburst.

“What’s the fantasy Kudzu do?” Duck prompts, trying to show he’s not bothered. 

“It gives humans a blue rash where they touch it, like poison ivy but less painful and more absurd. Oh, and there’s a type of flower that Sylphs find pleasant to eat, but that is an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac for humans. A fact I now realize Barclay may need to be reminded of sooner rather than later.”

“Someone I don;t think either of ‘em will mind. Stern’s about two seconds away from climbin him like a tree every time I see them.”

“It must be nice.” Indrid sighs. 

“Yeah.” Duck murmurs, finishes bandaging the cut. He smooths it down, lets his hand continue along the plane of Indrid’s back. He’s so angular and knobbly, even back here, skin paler than everywhere else from goodness knows how long without seeing the sun. 

Indrid hums, leaning back into the touch. Duck’s instinct is to stop, to not make it awkward, but instead he takes another few moments to simply touch him, hoping that let’s him know he’s here, that he cares about. 

“You eaten anythin today?”

“No, I haven’t had much if an appetite the last few days. But, since you are going to offer to make me something, I should say that I think sleep is my priority. I have not gotten any meaningful rest in about five days, the illness has kept me from doing so.”

“Okay. Lemme get you some water since you seem pretty dehydrated. The I’ll leave you to sleep.” He fetches the glass, leaves it on the bedside table as Indrid nestles beneath the blankets. 

“Thank you for everything, Duck.” Indrid’s glasses glint in the hall light as Duck flips the light-switch off in the bedroom. 

“You’re welcome. And ‘Drid, you can stay as long as you need to, y’hear? I meant what I said about you bein my friend.”

With that, he pulls the door shut, and leave the exhausted man to sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid wakes up only once in the time between Sunday evening and Tuesday morning. It’s sometime Monday afternoon, and in the few minutes he’s conscious he sees a fresh water glass, a box of fever reducer, and a note waiting for him.

_Indrid,_

_At work, but call me if you need anything. Help yourself to anything in the fridge if you get hungry._

_-Duck_

He sips the water, smiles at the note, and promptly passes out again. 

Tuesday morning, he pads out of the bedroom after Duck is already at work, and helps himself to some cereal. Munches bowl one at the table, then bowls two through six as he explores the apartment. Duck has an entire shelf dedicated to model ships, and the thought of him seated at the table patiently putting one together makes Indrid feel warm in a pleasant way rather than a fevered one. There are pictures of family and friends, posters from public lands, even a few photos. 

The bookshelf is well stocked, lots of non-fiction, westerns, horror, and a few mysteries. Absent are many classic tales in which a chosen hero must embrace his destiny to save the world. 

Even fortified with cereal, he’s starting to feel a bit woozy. He looks at the futures and groans in frustration. Resigned, he picks up the phone.

“Monongahela National Forest-”

“Hello, Duck.”

“Hey, sleepin beauty, you’re awake. How you feelin?”

“Considerably better, but that is not saying as much as I wish it was, given my starting place. In fact, when I look at the timelines, it appears I will not recover for at least another two weeks. I, ah, do not wish to rely on your hospitality for all of that, but I will most likely need to stay with you for several more days-”

“You need me to run by the ‘Bago and get some stuff?”

“I thought finishing sentences was my job.” He teases. 

“You’re sick, someone’s gotta pick up the slack. What do you need?”

He lists off the items, thanks Duck profusely, and hangs up. He intends to go back to the bedroom, but instead falls asleep on the couch.

He’s awoken by a deep chuckle, opens his eyes to find Duck holding several grocery bags and smiling at him. 

“Couldn’t even make it to the bed?”

He points to Taco, still curled up on his chest, “I meant to, but then he sat on me and I could not move. It is a great affront to cats if you move them from a comfortable spot. They do not forgive”

Duck shakes his head with another laugh, sets the bags on the counter, “Sometimes I can’t tell when you’re kiddin.”

“In all honesty, I am not always sure either. Here, I can go get my things from the car.” He stands, and immediately lists to one side. 

“Nope, what you’re gonna do is have a seat at the table and drink this while I get dinner goin.” He holds out a king-sized blue raspberry slushy, and Indrid trills in delight. 

“Thought you might like it. Be right back.” 

Duck finishes bringing in the two boxes he gathered from Indrid’s house, mainly clothes, his drawing supplies, and some books (“didn’t take you for the kind to read cowboy romance novels” “I find predictable plots soothing”). He puts the groceries away and heats up a frozen pizza, he tells Indrid about work, about the goings on at the park and the town gossip he picked up from Juno. 

There’s a lull as puts away the bags, and over the ticking of the timer Indrid asks, “why are you doing all this for me?”

“Because you’re my friend. Ain’t the first time I’ve opened my house to someone who needs it.”

“Duck, I am barely your friend. I know you only called me that make a point to Hollis.”

Duck turns, and Indrid meets his eyes, “Why help someone you do not know all that well?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Maybe that’s a corny thing to say, but it’s somethin I try to live my life by.”

“I think it is admirable.”

A smile, “And even if we ain’t close friends, I do wanna get to know you better. Woulda preferred it not get goin with you passed out, but there you go.”

Indrid smiles his first real smile in months as he says, “I would very much like for us to be friends, Duck Newton.”

The next two days and nights follow a pattern: Indrid wakes up late, spends his day sleeping, reading and, as his strength comes back, drawing. He and Duck eat dinner together, talking as if they have known each other years. And Duck changes the bandages on his back with such tender care that Indrid wants to beg him to touch every inch of him that way. 

Friday night, his powers decide he’s gone too long without nightmares. 

He wakes up, tearing his glasses off in his panic, completely incapable of knowing where he is in time. He stumbles into the hallway, searching for a sign of when and where he is, whether he can calm down or whether he has to fly as fast as his wings will carry him. 

“‘Drid?” 

He whirls at the unexpected sound, hissing. Duck steps back, fear plain on his face. 

Duck. He’s with Duck. He did not meet Duck until 2019. He is in Duck’s apartment, not his Winnebago on the outskirts of Point Pleasant. 

“‘Drid, what the fuck?” Duck tenses the longer he looks at him. 

Indrid curls in on himself, wings retracting and antennae drooping, tries not to be the monster hiding in the dark. Chirrs pathetically, as if that will explain anything. 

“Is somethin bad comin?”

“No. I, it was a nightmare. A memory of a failure. Nothing more. I, I am sorry for frightening you, for, for making you see a form I know alarms you. I will go back to bed now.” He turns, forgetting his size, and bangs his head into the door frame.

“Ow.” He can’t even be upset by the pain, the panic draining what little energy he’d built up during his coalescence. Can’t even be disappointed that the nightmare will rob him of another nights sleep.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yes.” 

“‘Drid, this seems like more’n a nightmare. You still look like you’re sure you’re gonna find a monster under your bed or some shit.”

“It is not important. Go back to bed, Duck Newton, I will be fine.” He turns watch, to ensure Duck does just that.

Instead, Duck takes a tentative step forward. Two more brings him close enough to reach out and rest a hand on the down of Indrid’s chest. He still looks, as he would put it, freaked out. But he’s not flinching, not looking away from the terrifying creature in front of him. 

Mis-matched eyes stare up at him, “What can I do?”

“May I sleep in your bed?” 

All four hands fly to cover his mouth as soon as those words burst out of it. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry, that was an inappropriate request, I-”

“The answer is yes, goofus. Go put your glasses on, I ain’t sure the thing is built for a Sylph your size.”

Duck waits for him to comply, takes his hand and leads him into the master bedroom. Grabs a thick blanket from the closet, lays it on one side of the bed. Indrid slides beneath that and the thin sheet, while Duck kicks the sheet down to the foot of the bed on his side. A warm breeze drifts through the open window, and Indrid feels himself uncoil. 

In the moonlight from the window, Duck is a dream. Streaks of grey in his black hair, stray scars along his chest and arms, the softness of his belly, the tired yet stubbornly kind set of his face. 

Indrid supposes he ought to feel strange, Duck wearing next to nothing while next to him. But all it does is make him feel lucky, as if he is glimpsing something private and special, a vulnerable moment from the strong, calm, and sometimes taciturn man. 

Duck gives him a reassuring smile, “Night, ‘Drid.’

“Goodnight, Duck.”

The last thing he notices as he falls asleep as a soft swish of skin on fabric, and Duck’s hand closing around his own. 

\------------------------------------------------

Duck wakes up Monday morning with a mothman in his bed. 

He has no one but himself to blame as it appears, from their positions, that he was the one who knocked Indrid’s glasses off. Probably during that dream where he was arguing with a reincarnated Beacon. 

Carefully, he picks up the glasses and folds them, setting them on his nightstand. In the warm morning light, Indrid doesn’t look much less intimidating in this form. 

But Duck finds himself less and less frightened by it. It is, after all, just Indrid. Awkward and odd and endearing Indrid

His wing is half flopped over Duck’s leg, and Duck pets his hand along the top of it (they haven’t deliberately cuddled, but neither has either of them tried to avoid contact if it happens). As he does, a purr fills the room. He laughs, then full on guffaws when Taco skitters into the room in search of the interloper. 

Indrid jerks awake, then nestles down into the pillow. 

“Mornin, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning.” Indrid sleepily draws a clawed finger down his cheek. Then he notices that it’s clawed. 

“Oh no, they came off, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t gotta put them back on if you don’t want.”

“Really?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Kinda hard to find you scary when you’re all fluffed up and makin cute sounds.”

Indrid chirrs shyly. Duck scritches the down on his chest, and Indrid giggles. 

“Pity everyone sees you when it’s dark or they’re freakin out. You got sorta corvid feathers.”

“Beg pardon.”

“Like crows and Magpies and them. The black aint pure black, it’s got purple and green in it when it catches the light. Fuckin amazin to look at.”

“Thank you.” Indrid purrs.

“Wish I could stay here all mornin getting a look at you. But those forest fires ain’t gonna prevent themselves.” He snorts at the bad joke, hoping that covers the compliment that got out when he wasn’t looking. Indrid’s laughter follows him all the way to the shower. 

The next night, he comes in from brushing his teeth to find Indrid has discovered his bedside reading. 

“Brazil?” 

“Uh yeah.” Duck sits down on the bed, keeps his back to Indrid, “Been thinkin I’d like to go and help with the conversation and reforestation down there. Save the rainforest like the secret hippie I am.”

Indrid laughs, then his tone goes serious, “After all that time spent here, trying to save the town, draw more tourists to it even, you've decided to leave?”

“It wouldn’t be forever. And I ain’t decided anythin yet.” He snaps.

“Do you even speak Portuguese?” Indrid sounds amused and puzzled. 

“No, not yet. But I’m workin on it, got one of those language apps and everythin. And why the hell do you care anyway?”

“I...I just know that surviving a near catastrophe, or a full catastrophe, can cause people to do things without thinking them through. Leave the past behind by running as far as they can.”

“I ain’t runnin away, Christ, you sound like Minerva used to. I’m running _towards_ something. I spent most of my life thinking I could never fully escape my destiny, even if I put my all into tryin. Figrued I’d die doin some heroic shit, or that the big bad would appear one day and wreck whatever life I’d built. I love the life I made for myself, but it wasn’t everything I wanted. There were so many things I put off, didn’t plan, didn’t do. I’m finally, finally free of watin for that other shoe. I can finally worry about savin the world on my own terms, not someone else's. But...fuck it, never mind.”

He looks at the guidebooks, the books on the Amazon, stacked on top of each other. What can one man do to fix all that loss anyway?

“Is it safe to say that, perhaps, you feel like all the freedom is overwhelming at times? That, without the weight of that future, that moment where you know you will be called to act, there is so much to choose from that it paralyzes you?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He glances over his shoulder, finds Indrid sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“I feel something similar. I spent a century trying to solve a problem the Pine Guard resolved in a matter of days. I love Earth, but I grow tired of being seen as an omen of doom when I try to stop things. I love Sylvain, but do not miss it much, do not feel I would belong there. I am a retired seer whose mission was solved without me. That ought to be freeing, but all it does is alarm me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

A small laugh, Indrid tilting up his glasses to look at him, “It is not you who needs to apologize. It is me. I ought to have thought about matters for two seconds. Seen things from your perspective.”

“Thanks.” Duck looks out the window, doesn’t know what else to say. He feels like he revealed too much, like Indrid told him something he didn’t deserve to know. 

A car honks down the road, and the cicadas shriek in the trees.

“I know a little Portuguese.” 

He turns back, startled. Indrid rests his chin on his knees, secretive smile on his face. 

“I had to learn a bit while trying to prevent some political disasters. It’s not much, but it is a start. I have also had to learn many languages while on Earth. Some of my techniques may be helpful to you, if you would like me to teach them to you.”

“Really? You don’t think me tryin to do this is silly?” Duck shifts onto the bed, scooting so they’re side by side.

“I think it is noble. But in the end, it does not matter what I think. I want to see you thrive, Duck. Grow in whatever way you see fit.”

The smile is different now. He’s seen Indrid’s grin many times, many ways; welcoming, ominous, there because he knows that’s how humans should look.

Right now, he looks content. Happy, even. And he’s looking right at Duck. 

Indrid tips sideways, head resting on Ducks shoulder. Duck cards his fingers gently through Indrid’s hair, then pauses. 

“Hey, you ain’t burnin up anymore. You’re back to bein your normal, cold self.”

“Wonderful.” Indrid hums, “I have been feeling better. I’m on the mend, all thanks to my excellent friend and caretaker.”

“Anytime, ‘Drid.”

“I suppose this means I shall be out of your hair soon.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

It’s verging on four weeks since Duck brought Indrid, half-dead, into his apartment. Indrid is still staying with him, and neither of them is interested in pressing the matter. 

Instead, they have a routine, they’re already learning each other's rhythms. They eat dinner together, even venturing out to restaurants once Indrid is fully healed, and breakfast on weekends. Duck works, come home to find drawings scattered everywhere. But Indrid, once he was feeling better, began doing chores as well. Haphazardly at times, but done nonetheless. He takes to making grocery runs, and taking Taco to the vet for his annual check-up (“I just got you healed up too” “why are so many of his parts pointy and full of rage?”).

He’s stopped asking if Indrid wants to share his bed. Started savoring the mornings when they wake up curled together, the times Indrid lets him cuddle and inspect his Sylph form. 

They start visiting the lodge together, and Indrid even agrees to join Duck for a few hikes. Sometimes, Duck takes his camera to his favorite spots, spends his afternoons getting his shots just right while Indrid sketches the forest. 

He finds a pile of money on the kitchen table one morning, simply labeled “for rent” in Indrid’s handwriting. 

The morning after, everything changes. Indrid wakes up with Duck’s alarm, sketches at the table while Duck fills his travel mug and gets ready for the day.

“Gonna run by the store after work, anythin you need?” 

“I foresee Taco running out of litter this weekend, so it may be best to stock up while it’s on sale.”

“Roger that. See you tonight.”

He grabs his keys and coffee and heads out the door, stopping to kiss Indrid on the way out, the Sylph tilting his face up automatically when Duck leans down. 

It is only when he’s halfway to work that he remembers he and Indrid are not dating

“SHIT!” He says to the steering wheel. 

Back at the apartment, Indrid finally finishes his drawing, sits back in his chair with a sigh. 

Then he sits bolt upright, “Oh FUCK.”

\------------------------------------------

Duck spends the entire work day in a state of low level panic. 

“Duck, for Pete’s sake, I’m pretty sure Indrid likes you that way.” Juno looks up from her desk. 

“How can you possibly know that?”

“All the shit you’ve told me? The way you never stop talkin about him? The fact he’s still livin with you?”

“But what if I’m imaginin it, what if I’m wrong?”

“You really think that’s the case?”

Duck thinks over the last few weeks.

_“There we go. It’s lookin a lot better.”_

_“That is a relief.” Indrid glares over his shoulder at the wound._

_“Soon you won’t have to deal with my ham-handed nursin skills.”_

_“On the contrary, I find you remarkably gentle.”_

_“Yeah. I’m a big ol softy, but don’t tell anyone. Feels like it’s bad for a chosen warrior to be that way.”_

_“I admire how gentle you are. Goodness, your mercy helped save both our words,courtesy of your bond with Billy” Indrid murmurs._

And

_“Toss me those pajamas, it’s laundry day.”_

_Indrid reluctantly throws the sweatshirt and pants into the hamper, “I shall miss that sweatshirt smelling of your soap and deoderant. I find it comforting.”_

And

“I have never actually been to the Amazon. If you go, would it be alright if I visit you?”

“Course. I like havin you around, ‘Drid. It’d be real fuckin fun to show you the wildlife down there. You still get excited by Cardinals.”

“I just think they are compostionally striking.”

“You artistic types.” Duck teases. 

“I’ll show you artistic.” Indrid chirrs, ruffling the down of his cheeks against Duck until he guffawed.

“Oh.” Duck says to Juno, who shakes her head with a sigh. 

“Yeah, genius. Oh.”

He gets home that night to find Indrid pacing the hall, muttering to himself. 

“I have something to say.” They say in unison. 

Duck clears his throat, “You first.”

“I...I am fonder of you than I ever foresaw myself being, Duck.” Indrid twists his necklace, “And, this, this morning, it seemed so natural, and I was only half paying attention, but still, it, it just felt-”

“Like it made sense?”

“Yes. I, I hesitate to say like it ‘should’ happen, for I know how you feel about fate. And I would hate to think you were with me because it felt like the natural progression or the obvious outcome.”

“And if I wanted to be with you because you make me feel happy, and like I can be myself?”

“Then I would be the happiest creature on two planets. Perhaps in the entire known universe.” Indrid gazes at him hopefully. 

“In that case: Indrid Cold, would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes!” Indrid chirps out. Duck takes his hand, pulls him flush against him. 

“Guess we technically had our first kiss.” He murmurs, letting all the desire he’s been pretending wasn't there seep into his voice.

“Technically, yes…” Indrid purrs, grinning down at him. 

“But I feel like we oughta do it on purpose this time, don’t you?”

In answer, Indrid dips his head down, bringing their lips together. His hands find Duck’s cheeks and he hums into the kiss. Duck holds him tight, feels a thousand futures blooming around him, feels like every teenager cliche, every musical-crescendo kiss in the movies is coming true for him all at once. 

“Duck Newton” Indrid whispers, pressing two quick kisses to each corner of his mouth, “I cannot wait for my futures with you.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

It’s mid-October, and Duck flips through the magazine, checks his watch anxiously for the thousandth time. 

“Would it help to say there are no timelines in which anything goes even remotely wrong with the flight and we arrive in Brazil on time and in one piece?” Indrid sips his Mountain Dew, head cocked earnestly. 

“Nah. What helps is havin you here.” Duck leans across the little airplane seat divider to kiss him. 

“Softy.” Indrid lilts, kissing his nose. 

Duck grins, happier than he’s been in years, “Damn right.”


End file.
